


The Little Old Wine Maker

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 22:37:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: They'd thought they were lucky, finding shelter and hospitality when that freak storm came up out of nowhere.  Now?  Just what the hell was going on?  Perhaps a bad bottle of whiskey?  Maybe that free lunch on the counter at Body's Bar wasn't as fresh as it should have been?  Surely it had nothing to do with it being October 31st!!





	The Little Old Wine Maker

They'd left HQ in a piss poor mood, all five of them, each determined that they needed at least one stiff drink to get the bad taste out of their mouths. 

"We're gone for three weeks, bust our ass getting that shit for them, what they said was so fucking important, and all they can do is gripe," Casino complained, shoving a chair out of his way with a snarl. There was a loud bang as it hit the wall. 

That attracted the attention of a drowsing MP who was having a rough day and a bad night as well, since he was working a double shift, so it took Garrison to smooth the way enough to get them out without a visit to the brig for at least the one who'd disturbed the MP's slumber.

"Come on, Warden, guys, let's get outta 'ere while we can," Goniff urged, nervously watching the still annoyed MP relating the tale to a couple of his buddies, them in turn settling considering eyes on the five men. Garrison saw which way the pickpocket was looking, his eyes following right along and gave his own glare a little more force and the three MP's quickly shifted their eyes away.

"I agree, Craig. THOSE three might still be on duty, but they may have friends, and I am too tired to deal with their hard feelings," Actor encouraged their leader.

"Maybe YOU'RE scared, but . . ." Casino started to turn on his teammate, eager to take out his remaining aggression on someone, anyone, only to get a good-humored shove in the shoulder by Chief, probably the only one who had a chance of defusing the safecracker before he erupted into violence.

"Pappy, shut it. Actor's right. It's too late, we're too tired, and besides, I'm hungry. If you're good, maybe we'll let you get in a fist fight later," Chief promised. Garrison wasn't sure whether the youngest team member was joking or not, but the response, that bright look of interest from their safecracker was typical. 

{"I really hope we can avoid that,"} the leader thought, resolving to figure out how to manage toward that end, though he knew with his guys, that might be a futile effort. If Casino started swinging at one of the team, the rest might just put him in his place quickly and it could all be contained, but if he started something with an outsider, their team instincts would be to step up beside him and join in, and then it WOULD be a free-for-all that Garrison didn't want to have to deal with, not tonight. 

The team-making process had worked well, although Garrison took only partial responsibility for that, knowing with different men it wouldn't have had the same results. And no matter how good it worked most of the time? Sometimes, in the case of one of them getting fist-happy or in the mood for practical jokes or other mischief and the others joining in, the results gave him a massive headache. 

(He decided later that was the primary impetus in his first after-the-war stock investment being a few shares in a company specializing in making aspirin. He'd never been one for gambling before, but considering his own usage, past, present and no doubt the future, that wasn't a gamble but a sure thing, so stock would give him at least SOME return on his investment.)

Lieutenant Craig Garrison surveyed the weary men in front of him. His team. His guys. Each so different in so many ways, yet he'd take every one of them at his back, at his side, without hesitation, on any crazy job HQ decided to drop on them. 

Oh, afterwards he might have to search Goniff to make sure the pickpocket hadn't snatched some enticing trinket along the way, what Goniff called a 'sparklie', but the pickpocket would be there when he was needed, doing whatever he could to get them all home safe, just like the rest. 

And he might have to yell at Casino or Actor for getting distracted by a woman, might have to encourage Chief to have more confidence in himself, to speak up sooner rather than later about some reservation, some hesitation about what he'd seen, versus what the intel, even Garrison believed. 

But when the chips were down, there they were, giving it their all, all four of them.

He'd never felt the bond with anyone else that he felt with these men; never let himself depend on anyone that way, certainly never let his strict upbringing, his military training be tempered by the sincere affection they elicited from him. 

It had taken awhile, but now he understood; while they needed him, he also needed them, and not just for the jobs, the missions they were being sent on. He felt a surge of warmth mixing in with the other emotions this crew gave him, ruefully accepting that it seemed every day the variety of emotions and the depths of those emotions increased in an amazing fashion. 

Sometimes he worried, that what he felt was more than what they felt, more than they would WANT him to feel, and that worried him even more, a never-ending cycle of self-doubt, need, unworthiness, that he had never allowed to surface before. No, he wouldn't go there, wouldn't allow those feelings disturb what he needed to deal with now, getting his men what they needed in order to start the channeling down process. The sooner that was started, the sooner it was finished, the sooner they would all be back up ready to start the whole process over again. Suddenly he felt tired, so damned tired, just thinking about it all.

"Chief's right. It's late, we're tired, and we all need food, I imagine. I won't promise a fist fight, Casino - I'd really prefer to skip that if it's all the same with everyone - but I wouldn't say no to a good stiff drink," he admitted, trying to get them moving in the right direction.

"So, where to first?" Gonif said, rubbing hands together thoughtfully, not being one to turn down liquor in any form. First drink because it just tasted damned good. Second and third just because he could, at least with these guys, because it relaxed that tight hold he had on himself - not a lot, not enough to get sloppy and careless, just enough that he could maybe let just a little of his real self show. The heavy drinking? Any more, mostly just to control the night demons that tried to ride in on his dreams, turning them into the old nightmares. There were exceptions, of course, fear and bone-deep weariness making a bad combination luring him down that road, but that was getting to be a pretty rare occasion, between Meghada, Garrison and the guys providing a pretty strong safety net.

"Never mind first, Goniff - how about ONLY. I'm too tired for seconds. Marchant's?" Garrison suggested, only to get a disgusted look and moan from Casino.

"Look, Warden. That's fine for sleeping afterwards, and nothing against Henri and his crowd, but sheesh! Can't we go someplace where there's a little action? Something a little more lively? This time a night, the dining room at Marchant's is about to close, the kitchen won't have anything left worth eatin and the bar's only open for another half hour! It's gonna take a hell of a lot longer than that to get this dust outta my throat, and we still gotta feed the Limey and the Indian!"

No, Goniff hadn't said anything about wanting food, but then, why state the obvious? Goniff was awake, he needed food - simple as that.

Garrison turned, hands on his hips. "Alright, Casino, where do you suggest? Nowhere down on the docks!" he firmly stated. For one thing, any place down there was further from Marchant's and that bed he could already visualize than he wanted to be, especially after he'd had a drink, and the chances of an all-out fist-fight would have just about tripled, if not more, anywhere in that area.

"Aw, I was hoping for 'The Marlinspike', Warden!" Casino protested. "Should be fun; they got this singer with . . .!" and his hands sketched an improbable shape in the air.

"Ruddy 'ell, Casino, just stop right there! YOU might be willing to take a chance, and Actor is a bit long in the tooth to 'ave to worry overmuch, but you think I'm gonna let the Warden and Chiefy walk into that place, you're ruddy well out of your mind!" Goniff sputtered.

That got him a puzzled glance from Garrison and Chief, and a puzzled AND indignant one from Actor. {"Long in the tooth???!"} 

Casino gave a fast double-blink before giving a rueful nod. Well, 'The Marlinspike' HAD taken a turn in a couple of new directions, neither one of which he'd take a kid brother into.

"Yeah, likely lose them both within ten minutes! Forgot those new guys workin the place. Maybe Maggie's? Since you sweet talked him into letting us back in?" 

He didn't bother mentioning Goniff would be at high risk at The Marlinspike, too. {"That's not why he's putting the kibbosh on the idea, anyhow. The Warden, hell, any of the rest of us, decide we're GONNA go there no matter what HE says, Goniff'll be there just to try and keep us outta trouble, no matter HOW risky it is! Likely get his throat slit trying too!"}. No, he wouldn't knowingly put the pickpocket in that position.

"Maybe. We'll see," Goniff said, giving Casino a hard look. "We can 'ead in that direction anyway. Still don't know as 'ow we can trust you, Casino. Sometimes I think that dick a yours don't 'ave ANY wires connected to the thinking part of your brain! Still, Maggs said 'is Lola is off visiting 'er grandmum, so it should be alright."

They headed off, Actor asking Garrison in a low voice, "did you understand any of that about The Marlinspike?"

"No, and I'm not sure I really want to," Garrison admitted, his voice dropping to where only Actor could hear. "But if Goniff says we should stay away, I'm willing to trust his judgement."

Actor grinned, "you DO realize how ridiculous that sounds, don't you? This is Goniff we are speaking of."

That got a rueful laugh. "Yes, I do, but you have to admit, there are things he knows about this town that the rest of us wouldn't have a clue." 

He had the uncomfortable feeling there were things in general that Goniff knew that the rest of them maybe didn't have a clue about, highly unpleasant things maybe. Why that thought made him want to put a cushion of protection around their pickpocket, he wasn't quite sure, but it did.

They ended up at Bodie's Bar, a fair-sized establishment on the far edge of that strip that connected the 'sensible' part of town from the more adventurous. Goniff admitted he'd not been there before, "seen it in passing, but just never in the right mood at the time, I guess. Nothing out on the streets that seems to put it outta bounds, any'ow. Seems like it might be worth a closer look."

Looking around, Garrison realized they could have done worse. A good portion of locals, but enough others scattered about that it didn't feel threatening as a purely local crowd could sometimes get toward an individual or small group in the uniform they were wearing. The whiskey was drinkable - not good, mind you, but not dreadful. And the proprietor, a glum-faced man even thinner than Goniff, though a good foot or more taller, seemed friendly enough. Well, no, not exactly that - let's just say he seemed no less UNfriendly toward them than he did the rest of the light crowd. Til closer to closing time, when he got positively surly, glaring at Garrison, at them, glaring at just about everyone, obviously just wanting them gone.

They'd had a couple of drinks, happily dug into the free bar food, talked about everything BUT that last mission. It seemed like only minutes when last call was sounded, but when Garrison looked at his watch it was ten to twelve. 

"Come on, guys. Let's head out. Marchant's should have some beds for us, and if even if they don't, Henri will let us sack out in one of the storerooms." 

There was several decided advantages to having the small hotelier on their side, and ready accommodations of SOME sort or another was only one of those.

They headed out the door, just in time to hear the far off rumble of thunder, and the air had an ominous feel to it. "Come on, we'd better hurry," Garrison urged, and they took off at a brisk pace. 

Then, before they'd gone two blocks, they were lost. Even Goniff couldn't figure out where they were. One wrong turn, one quick turnaround trying to get headed in the right direction, then nothing looked familiar. Frankly, to the little Englishman, that didn't make any sense. He'd spent his entire life, well, til he left on the run one step ahead of the Farrell brothers, wandering these streets, the lowest to the highest, and he could have sworn he could have pinpointed every last one of them within just a few minutes.

"Look, ya damned fool Limey, get a move on. We're gonna get soaked," Casino rumbled, casting an apprehensive look skyward, and the heavy roll of thunder seemed to echo him mockingly. A quick streak of lightning didn't help, and then Garrison was looking around for someplace for them to take refuge from the sudden fierce wind and downpour of cold, icy rain.

"There, there's a light," he shouted about the noise of the storm. If they had been on a mission, a light would have been the last thing they headed for, but they were in London. The chances of a friendly face partnering that light was a heck of a lot greater than across the Channel. They headed off at a lope, trying to protect their eyes from the stinging rain, flinching instinctively as the lightning got closer, almost as if it was herding them on.

It was a tiny single-storied house, probably no more than sixteen foot square, timber and stone, huddled close to the ground and looking very out of place among the taller buildings around it, almost as if the rest of the area had been constructed around it. But it looked like a safe harbor, someplace welcoming, unlike the ominous threads of revulsion set off by the other structures. A knock got no immediate answer, but the second knock saw the door opening slowly, a highly apprehensive old man with bare legs and worn felt slippers standing there in a long nightshirt and a long-tailed nightcap with a tassel at the end.

Five minutes later they were in a snug little living room with a glass of wine being pressed into their hands by their smiling host, a hastily-laid fire going in a tiny fireplace in the corner. 

"I make wine, you see. It has been my livelihood since I was learning at my father's side as just a small boy. This, this I believe is a very nice apple wine, with rather remarkable undertones; I think you will find it most palatable. And it has more strength to it than you might think, surprisingly so" the old man had told them with such pleasure as he'd poured out five generous glasses of wine, handing one to each man. "It will help drive away the chill, will warm you quite nicely. Such a cold, wet night! Yes, yes, the wine will help. Soon you will be dry and warm and quite comfortable. You will see." 

Then he turned and left to see to what else he could deliver for their comfort.

"Man, oh, man, did we luck out!" Casino sighed with pleasure at the surprisingly intense flavor and underlying bite of the wine, the comforting heat that surrounded him. He relaxed back into the easy chair, the upholstery old and worn but exceedingly comfortable. Yeah, he could sleep here just fine! He even saw a footstool to prop his legs up on and reached down to drag it into the right position.

Garrison turned from his own investigation of what he thought might be an oddly shaped wine-bottle opener, though he supposed it could be an oddly shaped nut cracker - either way it seemed needlessly complicated, but certainly intriguing - to check on each of his men. He had been sipping at the wine, slowly, but finding it pleasant enough, certainly warming him more than he would have thought, and it seemed his men were comfortable enough, at least for the most part.

Yes, Casino was sprawled in that easy chair, feet up on the tapestry footstool, broad smile on his face. Actor had taken over the small sofa, leaning back into one corner, seeming to find it equally comfortable. Chief hadn't settled in one place, not that there were all that many places TO settle, was moving around the room looking at the antique wine-making and bottling equipment placed here and there, the framed illustrations depicting the wine-making process and different types of grapes. 

Goniff, though, he was sitting cross-legged on the braided rug in front of the fireplace, seemingly still trying to get warm. He shivered yet again, running his hands briskly up and down his upper arms, making quite a dramatic production of it. 

"Ruddy 'ell, wish I could stop shivering," he complained. "Feel like that rain soaked all the way to my bones!"

Garrison frowned a little in irritation. Yeah, Goniff could give Casino a good run for the title of 'master complainer', but he thought the pickpocket should be a little more grateful, considering they could still be caught out in that storm. Anyway, the room was warm by now, getting warmer by the moment, and none of the others, including Garrison himself, seemed to still be feeling the effects of their time out in the storm. Even their clothes seemed to be drying at record speed. Goniff couldn't be in near the dire straits he was claiming to be.

He walked closer, leaning slightly to lay a firm hand on Goniff's shoulder, thinking to tell him not to complain so much, that their host would have his feelings hurt, thinking to remind him of the old wine maker's courtesy, but pulled his hand back with an exclamation of surprise, realizing the Englishman's jacket was sodden, totally soaked through and icy in temperature. Goniff raised miserable blue eyes to Garrison's, the Lieutenant now realising the man was not just complaining idly, that he really was shaking uncontrollably, his breathing laboured. His usually-flaxen hair was plastered down tight against his skull, dark with moisture, sending a stray trickle or two down Goniff's face that he wiped away fretfully with the back of a quick hand. 

Garrison knew full well his own hair, his clothes, were almost dry, so it made little sense that his pickpocket was still soaked to the skin. He couldn't let that stand - looking around, saying a silent apology to their host, he moved a few items out of the way and grabbed a heavy linen runner cloth from the mantle, handed it to his pickpocket.

"Dry your hair good with this; that'll help. And, here, shuck out of that wet jacket, and get into this," he ordered, slipping his now-dry jacket off. The room was warm enough he really didn't need it anyway, he figured, and Goniff did.

"Don't see that'll 'elp any," Goniff retorted, as he scrubbed at his hair, getting it as dry as he could, brushing it back with his fingers, "can't be any less wet than mine is! You were out in the same rain as I was!"

"Come on, that's an order," and with a sigh, Goniff got to his feet and removed the jacket which was, indeed, dripping onto the rug, tossing it over an odd piece of equipment nearby where it landed with a squishy thud. Garrison held his jacket for Goniff to put on, and with a shudder Goniff slid his arms in and pulled it close around him, closing his eyes momentarily, almost moaning at the sensation of warmth from the residual body heat trapped inside. 

"Blimey, that feels good! You been standing under a 'eater I didn't see, Warden?" Goniff asked, glancing around for the first time as if to notice none of his other teammates seemed to be cold and wet either, though Chief didn't look quite as dry and comfortable as the others.

Garrison gave a faint smile, "must have been. Come on, drink that wine," seeing that Goniff had set it untouched on the raised hearth. "That should help some too." 

It had with him, he knew; that first sip and he'd felt the warmth flow through him. Though that surely wouldn't account for the quick drying of his clothes, of course, or his hair. Yes, he and the others must have been in a spot perhaps with better air flow, no matter how you'd think right next to the fire where Goniff had settled would have done a better job of it.

Goniff wrinkled his nose, distaste and more evident in his face, and shook his head violently. 

"Apple wine, Warden," he explained. "Never could stomach it; didn't want to insult the old soul by turning it down, but it'd come right back up if I was to try and drink it. Can't 'elp it, just one of those things, you know? One of you take it, or pass it around, okay?"

Chief had taken a sip or two of his wine earlier, but found it too sweet for his tastes and those lauded 'undercurrents' more repellent than appealing, had handed it over to Casino to finish without a word. 

So the extra glass of wine was passed around and shared between Garrison, Actor and Casino, and the empty glasses put on the table beside the small sofa. 

By then the old man was back, carrying a stack of blankets. Goniff hurried over and took them from him, grabbing the top one for himself and handing the rest around, wrinkling his nose at the powerful smell of must and mold, though being careful not to let the old man see.

"There only be these; they're old, but they should see you through the night more comfortable-like," their host offered with a smile, collecting the five glasses before he left. Garrison thought the man looked a lot like an older version of his high school English Lit teacher, Mr. Adams; he had fond memories of the young man, just out of teaching college, the man who'd encouraged him to read all the books his father had frowned on so much. 

"There's a whole world you're missing out on, Craig," he'd been told, when he'd admitted he hadn't read ANY of the books on the teacher's recommended list. "I'm not saying rub his nose in it; that would be disrespectful, of course. But reading on your own, when you have time and space, I think you will find it quite beneficial. A few you will study in this class, but you need to be familiar with these others when you go off to college, as I'm quite sure you will. Your father will have done you little service in setting you that far behind your peers." 

And he had read, at first hesitantly, then avidly, and had found it very much to his taste. The memory was so strong he looked around to see if there was maybe a shelf of books he might browse through, and saw a bookcase on the far side of the room that he'd somehow overlooked before. Well, as large as the room was, there was probably a lot he had overlooked.

"Nice old codger," Casino remarked, stifling a yawn, inhaling deeply of the tantilizing whiff of herbs coming from the blanket he'd pulled close around him. Oregano, basil, tarragon, bay, and maybe more. He smiled, thinking it reminded him of his mom's kitchen when she was deep into making her Italian vegetable soup. 

"The guy reminds me of my Uncle Carlo. He looked like a side of beef too, and sometimes acted just as smart, but he could hotwire anything with an engine. That's where I learned. He could make a mean batch of wine too, had a lot of kick to it; taught me a little of that too. Hell of a guy, Uncle Carlo - could fuck a broad through the mattress even when he turned sixty, though I taught myself that without his help," getting a laugh from the others. "Had more stories than that Hans Christian whoever you kept rattling on about, Actor, more interesting, too, and a hell of a lot raunchier."

Actor thought that highly unlikely, the resemblance Casino appeared to find, considering their host was a near twin to Jules Dumont, the slim, intelligent, sophisticated but quietly gracious man in his early forties who had given a youthful Actor shelter once when he was being pursued by a band of ruffians. That still brought a comforting glow, the remembering of that period of peace and security, books and music, for Jules had been a noted pianist as well as composer, and an avid and willing teacher.

{"Perhaps that extra sip of wine from Goniff, on top of his own glass and Chief's, along with the whiskey he took in earlier has affected his perceptions,"} he decided with a shrug. It certainly wasn't worth getting into an argument over, even entering into a congenial discussion. He, for one, just wanted to wrap himself in one of those sweetly-scented blankets {"lavender, most pleasant"}, and get some sleep in the toasty room. 

He noted Goniff had been quick enough to pull the top blanket around his shoulders, holding it to him like a life preserver. Even with Garrison's jacket and the blanket, the little pickpocket was shivering as if he had the ague. {"I hope he's not coming down with something. Or if he is, that it takes him into a quiet mode, not relentlessly chattering on as it does sometimes. I feel like I could sleep nicely, if I don't have to listen to him go on and on."}

Chief may have looked a little warmer than Goniff looked, the Englishman looking woefully miserable, but still the young man reached for a blanket eagerly, wrapping it around him tight and looked around for a likely spot. The smoky scent of sage billowing from the wool warmed him more than the blanket itself did, reminded him of days long past.

"Hey, Indian, pull up that other chair," Casino urged, jerking his chin toward a far shadowy corner of the large room. Funny, Chief hadn't noticed that extra arm chair before, but now that Casino pointed it out, it DID look comfortable. He pulled it up closer to the others, slid into it, wriggled into the corner and drew up his knees, and slid into a light doze. Before long he extended his legs onto the padded footstool that he hadn't really noticed before, and was sound asleep.

Actor was stretched out on the couch, which, while it hadn't initally seemed long enough for him, seemed to fit much better than you would have thought. There was even room for him to stretch out fully, resting his feet on the far armrest. {"Yes, quite comfortable!"}

Garrison was now lowering himself into another big chair, eyelids drooping, having taken one last glance around to see that all his men were equally snug. {"Yes, Actor, Chief, Casino, all down for the count. I don't see Goniff, but I imagine he's found the softest nest of all, maybe in some corner. The room is so big, I can't see the far walls, much less all the nooks and crannies."}.

Somehow, he just couldn't pull up the energy necessary to go and check on the pickpocket, just to be sure; his eyes were fast on their way to being fully closed.

Goniff stood close to the fireplace, it crackling away nicely even though it didn't seem to be throwing off much if any heat, watching the activity as everyone tucked in for the night. He looked around the tiny room, everyone settled in nicely, their resting spots so close as to be touching, and while happy they'd found nice spots, was a little disappointed to find no such cozy spot waiting for him. 

{"Well, don't know where it would 'ave been anyway; 'ardly any room left to walk without stumbling into things as it is. Still, if Actor 'ad taken one a the chairs, me and Chiefy could 'ave shared that couch. Woulda been tight, like a pair of sardines, more 'n likely, but could 'ave managed. Oh, well, I've slept rougher, many a time,"} 

He shrugged, and wrapped the blanket tighter and curled up into a tight ball on the woven rug next to where Chief had settled, his legs tucked under the chair since there was no room elsewhere. At least the overhang from Chief's blanket helped block some of the draft.

Casino:  
Casino woke with a start, chilly fingers brushing against his face, the smell of pungent seaweed causing him to wrinkle his nose. {"What the hell?"}

She was standing in front of him, smiling, motioning for him to follow her, her index finger across her lips, indicating he was not to speak and risk waking the others. Once she knew she had his attention, she ran her fingers slowly down the center of her body, her initial smile turning into something as alluring as any ever given by a woman.

He hesitated, but that openly sexual invitation she was now giving him was just too much to resist. {"Damn, what a figure! Though I'd sure think she was cold, considering how little she's wearing! What the shit is that dress made out of, anyway? Seaweed? Smells like it! Oh, well, it's not so bad, and she's really hot, just the way I like em!"}. 

He pulled himself to his feet, leaving the blanket behind, and followed her out the inner door.

In the silent room, a sleepy-eyed Goniff blinked, raised his head from the rug, wondering what had awakened him, but couldn't see any reason, couldn't even see the others the room was so dark, so went back to sleep.

Chief stirred in his sleep, uneasy in his dreams, but didn't awaken. 

The others slept on. At least for awhile. 

Casino had a huge grin on his face, following those swaying hips, that turned head with the inviting smile. Those lovely green eyes, hair so blonde as to be almost platinum. Then the form in front of him faded, and instead of a luscious female in a skimpy dress, there was a grinning white cat with those same green eyes. For some reason it didn't shake him up too much when the cat started talking to him. Go figure.

"Come, follow me, Casino. This is only the beginning; I am capable of being so many, many different things. You dream of such interesting possibilities; perhaps, if you are lucky, I might make some of those possibilities become reality. Come, Casino. Do you feel lucky? Lucky enough to take a chance?"

He considered for about two seconds, then answered. "Hell, yeah, kittycat. I feel damned lucky. So, whatta ya got in mind?"

She tilted her head in coy invitation, and offered, "chase me? I like to be chased, at least sometimes. For a short while. Then, then we shall see."

"Yeah, well okay, but I hope you got something better, maybe bigger, in mind than you being a cat. Was figuring more on a little up-close-and-personal, ya know?" he grumbled.

"Oh, yes, I know. And don't worry, I have something bigger AND better in mind," and the cat issued what sounded like a giggling hiss, turned and dashed off down the hall. 

Casino followed, dodging odd pieces of equipment and furniture that seemed to litter up the place. {"Shit, where'd all this stuff come from? And there sure are a lotta rooms and hallways for such a little place!"}

He caught a glimpse of white scurrying into one of the side rooms, laughed in anticipation and rushed through the door, only to get caught in a mass of spider webs. 

"Hell! That's no fair!" he sputtered, trying to wipe the sticky mass off his face and hair and shoulders.

"What isn't fair, my sweet Casino?" came the chittery voice. 

Casino turned, looked at the beagle-sized spider standing there, looking at him with those many glittery shiny green eyes. It, no, SHE, came toward him on those long jointed legs, and with each movement, the spider increased in size, til she was nearer the size of a Great Dane. He looked around frantically, looking for anything he could use as a weapon, and snatched up a spindly-looking wooden chair.

"Stay back, I'm tellin you," he warned. 

(Sigh). "I thought you wanted to play, Casino! You weren't going to hit me with that chair, were you? That's not nice. Oh, well, if you don't like this possibility, there are many more."

"Ya know, I'd be just fine with the first one, you in that skimpy little dress," he muttered, then paused, realizing he had obviously lost his mind. Screw how hot she was! Anyone who could turn into a spider he just couldn't drum up that much enthusiasm for. He glanced down at his burgeoning erection and realized that, yeah, he obviously could.

(Sigh). "Oh, very well," came as a slightly petulant reply, and the spider was gone, and the totally hot babe was back.

{"Well, maybe just this once,"} he shrugged, and moved toward her, only to have her give him a coy smile, and slip back out the door.

"Well, come on, sweetheart. I thought you were going to chase me," came a seductive laugh, and he headed out the door. He caught just a glimpse of her at the end of the hall, and dashed after her.

He almost had her twice, and was starting to wonder if maybe he should just forget about fulfilling his fantasies, when he heard her give a little cry, as if she'd maybe twisted her ankle. {"Maybe I can catch up to her NOW! Come on, sweetheart, come to daddy!"}

He rounded the corner and came face to face with a sabertooth tiger just waiting to pounce, and he decided for once Goniff was right - he really DIDN'T have any wires connected from his dick to the thinking part of his brain. {"Though I'm not about to tell him he was right!"}

That was the last thought he had time for before he turned and ran for his life. Turns out kittycat liked to chase even more than she liked being chased. Turns out she liked to play with her prey, too, once she caught it.

It was almost a relief when the world swirled around him and he found himself plunging into a dark well of deep water. Well, til the waters closed over his head and he found himself struggling to reach the surface and grab onto something to keep him from going under again.

Actor:  
Actor gradually became conscious of music, {"Chopin!"} playing on a pianoforte somewhere in the house. The keying was distinctive, and he smiled, remembering Jules playing that very piece in that very way, lecturing the youthful Actor, (though he had been known by something quite different then, of course) on the music and the composer. 

Drawing the blanket aside, folding it neatly, he silently tiptoed out of the room, going in search of his old mentor.

Goniff frowned, feeling the air stir around him, and muttered, "just great! W'ere did that bloody draft come from?" and pulled the blanket closer around his ears.

Chief was awake now, staring into the darkness as if he should be able to see - something - whatever had caused that ripple, but he couldn't, and his eyes drifted closed again.

Garrison didn't budge, but that smile of contentment he'd had when he'd first fell asleep had faded away, to be replaced by a slightly anxious frown.

Actor started to make his way up that narrow staircase, sparing a thought for how odd it seemed for there to BE a staircase. 

{"This seemed only a single story house from the outside."}. 

The steps seemed mushy under his feet, and three steps from the top the mushiness turned to nothingness and he found himself sinking rapidly. Heart racing, he grabbed for the step above and slowly, laboriously, pulled himself up to reach the landing above. 

Looking back down, the lower level now seemed thirty, forty, then fifty feet away, the distance ever increasing, and he hastened along the landing to search out his mentor who might explain this odd phenomena to him, as he had explained so much else to Actor so long ago.

It seemed the wine maker had stored a great deal of his equipment up here as well as down below. Some partially blocked the way, and he had to move in and out to get around, trying to avoid sharp edges. 

Those dangling ropes on the wall outside the doorway to where the music was coming from, they at least could be swept back by an outstretched hand. He proceeded to do so and froze, looking into the glittering red eyes of the coiled snakes making up that great mass he had thought were old ropes. He gasped, and dodged quickly, stumbling in through that doorway, half-falling, anything to avoid their fangs. 

The man sat at the keyboard, head tilted, listening carefully to the notes he was playing. The pianoforte continued on, as if Actor's abrupt entrance hadn't disturbed the player at all. 

Well, possibly it hadn't. Jules had always been extremely focused. Obviously that much hadn't changed, though just as obviously much else had. For one thing, although Jules was wearing his favorite at-home smoking jacket and paisley ascot, he wasn't wearing anything else at all. Including hair or flesh. Bare bones were shining in the light from the several candelabras scattered around

Actor stood, frozen, and the music ceased, and Jules seemed to realize he had company for the first thing. Turning, those empty eye sockets rested on the conman, and Jules exclaimed, "my dear boy! What an absolute delight! Come, get comfortable. Get rid of those heavy clothes and that mortal flesh and all the rest. You have no idea how utterly delightful and freeing it will be!"

The flow of cockroaches and millipedes tumbling out of those open bony jaws along with those words failed to fill Actor with all that much delight. They advanced on him, mandibles waving in the air, and he backed away, wondering if he dared risk going past those coiled reptiles again.

It was then that the world, the air, turned into a whirlwind, and he was picked up, only to be deposited with a huge splash into a dark wall of deep water. He would have panicked, seriously considered it, but was steadied a little by a sardonic voice in the darkness.

"Hey, Beautiful. Great night for a swim, aint it!"

Amazing, in a way, the relief those words, that voice brought to him, considering.

Garrison:  
Garrison was the next to be startled awake, but not by a comely female or the sound of far-off music. No, this was by a much-beloved teacher, now a very angry, very stern-faced English teacher leaning over him, accusations flowing from his twisted mouth. 

"You cheated, Craig! I try to encourage you, help you grow and what do you do?? You spend your time associating with ruffians, low-lifes, neglecting your studies. And here you are, sleeping the sleep of the just, as if you'd earned the right. What about your responsibilities? What about those who are counting on you? Are you so selfish as to just ignore all that, just think of yourself?? Your father was right! You are NOT a good boy and I am highly disappointed in you! And to finish the matter, you cheated! You only earned a 99 on that test! You CHEATED for that extra point!!"

In vain a fifteen year old Craig Garrison protested his innocence, that he had gotten that 100% on the test all by himself. That no one had helped him, and he certainly hadn't cheated. All the while he pleaded for Mr. Adams to believe him, offered to take the test over, offered to take a verbal test right then and there, he felt himself shrinking smaller and smaller, and Mr. Adams getting larger and larger, til the teacher's head was almost touching the ceiling.

Finally, the man's voice thundering, shaking the room, the light from his eyes flashing like lightning, Mr. Adams had pointed to the inner doorway. 

"GO! Don't return til you're willing to tell me the truth! Til you are willing to turn your confederates over for their rightful punishment for leading you astray. And it will be dire, I promise you! Just pray I forgive you enough to spare you THEIR fate!!" and the teacher now held a bloody cat o' nine tails in his taloned hand. 

Terrified, a young Craig Garrison set off at a run, the doorway seeming a mile away, not daring to cast a look behind to see if Mr. Adams was chasing him. 

Now the boy was walking up and down long hallways, with windows along both sides, trying to find a way out. Some of the windows were shuttered, others covered with curtains that could be pulled back easily with one hand. Others were totally undraped. He kept looking back over his shoulder for Mr. Adams, but his curiosity got the better of him and stepped closer to look out one of the undraped windows - he shivered at the landscape of ice cliffs and snow-covered nothingness, and went on. 

At one window there was a tapping, and he reached out to undo the latch, but slammed it back as the grinning creature within started to reach its bony claws through. Backing away, he dashed to the end of the hallway, catching glimpses of monsters beyond description in the other windows, scowling, grinning, howling at him, then down another hallway and then yet another. And behind him, all the while, he could hear the heavy footsteps of the giant that had once been his beloved teacher, now bent on making Craig Garrison pay, and pay soundly, for his many transgressions.

The last hallway seemed as if it had been unused for a very long time, and there was a steady drip of water from the ceiling above, landing in a puddle of water gleaming in the moonlight streaming in through an open window in the far end. Cautiously edging around that puddle, thinking it very suspicious that he couldn't really SEE the floor beneath that puddle, he quickly made his way toward the opening, his only thought escape, but when he got within two feet of the window, Mr. Adams was there, so huge now that he was standing on the ground outside, his head at a level with the sill. 

"I guess you really want to join your disreputable friends, Craig. Well, come along. I have them already strung up, ready for the whip, and I've saved a nice spot for you, right in the middle."

Craig backed up, and in doing so, stepped in the puddle, which turned into a pool, which turned into a bottomless well where the only one who heard his cry for help as he fell was the dour-faced English teacher. 

"Stupid boy! Well, if you'd rather drown than take your proper punishment, so be it. In fact, you might as well have your dreadful friends in there with you," Mr. Adams proclaimed.

And with that there were four splashing bodies in the well with him, four other boys, terror mixed with sheer determination on their faces as they tried to find handholds on the slimy walls surrounding them.

First one, then another found such a handhold, and as they did, holding on desperately, reached back to snag a waiting hand from another who'd not been so lucky. The oldest of the boys grabbed Craig and pulled him in, holding him tightly against the wall. From that vantage point, he could see that the more husky of the lot had been able to snag the dark boy in the buckskin shirt. 

The last, though, a small blond boy, was too far away, and no amount of reaching out from them, no matter how he struggled to splash through the water to reach one of them, was successful. They watched helplessly as he went under, once - twice - a third time. 

Craig watched those blue eyes, wide, terrified, yet somehow trusting, sadly accepting, looking into his, and knew he couldn't stay there, in relative safety, and just watch the boy die. Pulling away from the older boy's supporting arm, ignoring that cry of protest, he dove down just in time to grab the blond as he went down for the fourth, what would have been the final time. Together they fought their way to the surface, gasping for breath, holding on to each other for dear life.

"I could 'ave died!" the boy whispered into Craig's ear, their bodies pressed against each other's, their hearts pounding in a hard, fierce rhythm together. 

"I'm not going to let that happen," Craig whispered in return, green eyes fastened on the blue ones staring into his, the latter searching to see if that was true, reading the firm resolution there. 

Then a small shy smile was followed by a brisk nod of acceptance of that truth, the boy offering his own truth in return.

"Well, I aint intending to let you die neither, so 'ow about we get out of the middle so we don't both bloody well drown?!!"

How he managed to pull them both within reach of those outstretched arms, he didn't know, not at first. Not til he coughed up the water he'd swallowed, pounded on the other boy's back and chest til HE heaved up an equal amount. Then he saw - realized how they'd been brought to safety. The oldest boy had held hands with the husky one, who had a firm grip on the wrist of the buckskin-clad boy. It had been that last who'd grabbed Craig's arm, pulled the two of them to the safety of the stone walls.

{"We're going to get out of here, Mr. Adams,"} he swore to himself, hugging the other boy he'd rescued tightly within his arms as if he'd never let go. {"Somehow, together, we're going to get out of here. We won't let you win; we won't let ANY of you win! We're too strong, just as long as we stick together. We're too damned strong! And no, I will NOT apologize for cursing!!"}. 

Somehow, that faint chuckle in his ear told him that his thoughts had been understood, and agreed with thoroughly by the one he still clutched in his arms. As did the whispered, "too bloody strong, is right! We'll show them all, we will!"

And looking up from those compelling blue eyes, around into the eyes of the other three, he knew they agreed. They'd show the whole damned lot of them!!!

"Chiefy! Chiefy, come on, wake up! Something's wrong, really wrong!" Goniff urged frantically, shaking Chief by his shoulder til the younger man woke up. 

"Goniff? What the . . ." he muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes. It hadn't been a good sleep, certainly not a restful one, but he wasn't all that happy to have it interrupted.

"They're all moaning like crazy, Chiefy! All 'ot and sweaty, breathing 'ard, acting like something's after them. And talking, and none of it makes any ruddy sense! 'Alf out of their minds, seems to me! You'd never believe w'at all they've been saying!"

Well, Goniff had heard plenty, and proceeded to share what he'd heard while Chief quickly got to his feet to check on the others. Goniff hadn't been exaggerating any; they were in bad shape, and nothing helped, not even splashing cold water on their faces, shaking them, yelling, nothing. 

Chief sat back on his heels finally. "Goniff, stop," watching the Englishman once again trying to shake Garrison, then Casino, awake. "We gotta wait it out; there's nothing else to do." 

And so they did, although checking on their teammates every few minutes if not more. Waiting out the night. Waiting IT out, whatever the hell IT was. Waiting til their friends came back to them.

Now, so much later, the light was barely coming in through the grimy windows but at least it WAS light once again. Goniff and Chief gave each other a grateful glance, and then turned their attention back to their teammates.

Garrison was the first to come round, groaning, holding his head as if he'd been on a month's long drunk. Well, his head and his mouth certainly felt like he had. 

"Warden!" Chief exclaimed, this being the first signs from any of the other three that they were ever intending to return from whatever faraway dreamworld they'd been visiting. 

There had just been enough muttered words, whimpers, sighs, enough anguished groans to tell both him and Goniff that the visits weren't going all that well. That last bit, seemed like they were even maybe caught up in the SAME nightmare, being trapped in a dark place, in water.

"Ruddy 'ell, Lieutenant! About ruddy time! Don't DO that again!! Can 'alf-way expect this shit from Casino, but not from you!!" Goniff rasped out, though the bleary-eyed Garrison didn't have a clue about what he'd done! Obviously something dire from the looks on those two men's faces. Neither man looked like they'd had any sleep in days, and Chief was showing an unexpected amount of relief for someone who prided himself in keeping any trace of expression off his face.

"Actor? Casino?" Garrison whispered, afraid speaking any louder just might cause his head to roll off.

"Still out for the count, Warden. Making all kinds a noises, saying all kinds a crazy shit, just like you, but no sign of them coming around yet," Chief told him.

"Sure wish they would," Goniff said fretfully. "It's light out now, storm's over; sooner we get the 'ell outta this place, the better I'll like it. This place, it just aint RIGHT, if you know w'at I mean?"

Well, Garrison wasn't going to argue the point. Of all the words he'd use for this place, 'right' was nowhere on the long list.

They came back, after sleeping for sixteen hours straight and getting a clean bill of health from Patrick and James over at the small hospital the O'Donnell's sponsored. 

"Maybe we picked up some kinda bug, something the docs didn't find," Casino argued, though that checkup had been embarrassingly thorough. Since he'd sorta mentioned 'kittycat', describing her build and that skimpy little dress and a few suggestions she'd made, and that his memory was a little skimpy too, about certain parts, that sent the doctors in a slightly different direction with him than they'd gone with the other guys. Still, they didn't come up with anything, with him OR the others, nothing that would explain their reported hallucinations and nightmares.

Goniff shrugged, "Patrick and James just said we were tired out, needed a good long break, along with some decent food, some drink that 'ad a more reliable, well, as Actor would say, 'provenance'," looking at Garrison wistfully, and shrugged with a sigh, "not that I see us getting any of that any time soon."

Garrison gave him a sympathetic smile, "no, probably not, Goniff, though I agree it does sound good." It obviously had been a rough few weeks for everyone, himself included, and he was tired enough to admit it, at least to his men. "But I'm sure HQ already has something interesting lined up for us."

For some reason, he found himself adding, "but don't worry. Whatever they throw at us, we'll get through it, together. Together, we're too damned strong NOT to get through it, as long as we stick together," giving first Goniff, then the others a reassuring smile. 

{"I don't know that I've said that out loud before, or when, though it sure sounds familiar. But it's true. I know it, and I hope they know it."}

A warm and familiar chuckle caught his attention and he looked back into the blue eyes of his pickpocket. 

"Well, that sound right nice, Warden, and I like the idea a w'ole lot. But that bus seems interested in proving it's stronger than the w'ole ruddy lot of us. Probably best we get out of the middle of the street before we get run over!"

{"Deja vu, or something damned close!"} Garrison thought ruefully, as he moved back up onto the sidewalk, thinking how familiar that exchange had seemed.

Rounding the corner of the block where they'd been when the storm hit, they approached Bodie's Bar. They went in to make sure of the directions to that little house. After all, it was such an anomaly in the neighborhood, surely the bartender would know, and there was no sense just wandering around trying to spot it.

The bartender at Bodie's Bar came up to greet them, to offer a sort of apology. 

"I was a little short with you the other night, Lieutenant. I'm not usually that way with the paying customers, but there's just something about that day, that time of year, you know? Gets me all out of sorts, jittery-like, especially getting on along to midnight. Can't wait to close it down, get home and snug the doors behind me."

Garrison had tilted his head, "the day, the time of year?" He wasn't even sure of the date, though it wasn't all that unusual for them to lose track of that, what with all their comings and goings.

Micky shrugged, "I know some people say it's nonsense to let it bother you, but All Hallows' Eve, Halloween, has always affected me that way. I've had some of the strangest things happen then. Why, once, right after I opened this place, I got caught out in a storm right as I was closing and couldn't manage to get the lock undone to get back in, not to save my soul! Ended up in some little house a block or two over, a nice old man letting me come in and get dried off, offered me a nice glass of parsnip wine, let me spend the night." 

He didn't notice the odd looks the men were giving him and then, each other.

He shuddered, remembering. "Worse night of my life; you'd not believe all I went through. Things kept changing, you know? Rooms and halls just appearing and disappearing, windows that weren't there before and the damnest things staring in at you, trying to reach through. Things that couldn't be happening, just wouldn't stop, and I just knew I was never gonna make it out alive. Never so glad to see daylight come again in my life!

"Funny thing, I went back a couple of days later, just to take a look, just to ask that old man about what I remembered happening but couldn't have really happened. No one was there, and the place looked like it hadn't been lived in for a hundred years or more. Got a good earful from others, though, afterwards. There's stories the oldsters will tell you about that place, make your hair turn snow white! 

"There's some say about two hundred years ago the place was owned by a male witch, some say a warlock. Others say he was just a nasty old man with an even nastier sense of humor. Was a wine maker, it seems, no matter what else he was. Had a good business, too; knew how to make it just right; but sometimes, if you'd made him mad, or even if he was just in the right mood, a glass of his wine could cause you to see things, imagine things straight out of your worst nightmares. Some even say he still shows up there, certain days of the year, All Hallows Eve being one of those, offering a glass to anyone foolish enough or unlucky enough to show up at his door."

He rattled on, pouring out a round of whiskey, making sure to partake himself while casting an uneasy look over his shoulder, and the men listened, not saying a word.

When they left, Chief asked, "we gonna go take a look, like you said, Warden?"

Garrison stared off into space for a few uncomfortable seconds, then briskly shook his head. 

"No, Chief, I don't think so. Though, next year, October 31st, if we're still here and in London, I think we'll stick with Marchant's, no matter HOW early Henri closes the bar. We can always take a bottle back up to the room. Think we'd be better off in the long run."

And, all and all, that seemed like a good plan. As Goniff commented later, "well, the Lieutenant, he's the one who GETS the good ideas, the right good plans. Think that's one we should stick with."

And no one disagreed with him, not at all.


End file.
